Haunted
by Crowdreamer
Summary: AU, angst, Irresistable/Orison spoilers. This is very explicit material. I apologize for borrowing themes from my SVU story, but I had to develop this story for Scully. I won't spoil it by giving too much away. Just read!


**Haunted**

**Part I—The Assault**

The hot breath on her neck felt like a branding iron, scarring her soul. Scully had fought him fiercely, but with his size and strength, it was a hopeless battle. She did not have time to think of the mistakes she made along the way—in hindsight she would see that the song she had heard over and over was a warning that evil was in her midst. But for now, all she wanted was to survive—to avoid being yet another victim, another prize for Donny Pfaster.

He had left her tied up and gagged to make preparations for the upcoming mutilation—drawing a bath in her bathtub so that he could clean her hair ritualistically, lighting candles, and getting his torture implements ready. She had time to escape from the closet and inch towards her gun—but he walked in just in time to find her squirming to get her bound hands over her feet, and it was all over then.

But he had a surprise in store for her. "You are the special one—the one I have been waiting for," he said. "You are my dream girl."

Then he got on top of her. She thought this must be the end of her. There was some consolation in the thought that she would not be alive when he cut her hair and removed her fingernails. He held the scissors up to her throat—the very same ones she had used just this morning to cut open the package containing his old file—and reached his hand down to her pajama pants. He slipped them down ever so slowly, and began to perform an unthinkable act.

He had never done this before. This man was a fetishist. An evil beast of a monster, a psychopath, a murderer, but never before had he raped his victims beforehand. This was not something that Scully could live—or die—with. She had to get away.

Her eyes frantically searched the room for something…anything…that would allow her to escape. Then she felt a stab of unimaginable pain, and she knew it was too late. He entered her, and she exited her body. She focused intently on a stain on the ceiling—had she even known it was there before? She heard grunts, and realized they were coming from her own throat, from the force of his thrusts. Every once in a while she would become conscious of the throbbing ache and the fear and the motion, and then she would close her eyes and escape into dissociation again.

He moved the scissors closer to her throat to make the final wound in her neck while he was climaxing, but the front door slammed open, interrupting him. Both of their heads snapped toward the door to see Mulder standing there, gun drawn, mouth gaping open in shock at the scene before him. As if in slow motion, his mouth began to move and he shouted the words, "Get off her…Get OFF her! NOW!"

Donny did not move, and this was not acceptable to Mulder. He ran towards the entangled bodies on the floor and kicked Donny hard. His weight was off her now, and she rolled over on her side. That's when she heard the gunshot and the thud as Donny's body went limp on the floor.

A single tear rolled down Scully's cheek. It was over…thank God it was over. But was it really? He had violated her in a way that she was sure she would never erase from her mind.

Mulder was at her side, and as always, his presence was a comfort to her. He pulled the gag from her mouth, and she gasped, "I'm cold."

"It's okay, Scully, you're in shock. Here, let me get your hands."

As soon as the cloth that bound her hands was gone, she threw her arms around Mulder and buried her head in his shoulder while he covered her shivering body. "It's over now," he said gently, while stroking her hair. She would have enjoyed this, felt comforted by this, if she did not feel so hollow inside. She expected to be sobbing by now, but the tears did not come—only emptiness followed by more emptiness.

There was the usual flow of activity following any traumatic event such as this—paramedics, police, investigators. They would be bagging evidence. They would be trying to determine whether Mulder was justified in shooting Scully's attacker. They would have been questioning her if she was up for it. But she wasn't, and Mulder shielded her by deflecting their interrogation for later.

Scully was unaware of all the movement around her. It was as if she was at a standstill while the world whirled in a tornado, with her in the center. She was in physical pain—the assault _had _hurt horribly. But the real pain was from the part of her soul that went missing during the assault.

They took her in the ambulance, and Mulder sat next to her. She stared at the ceiling of the vehicle, trancelike.

"…at the hospital, Scully? Scully…"

"Huh?" Her head snapped towards Mulder when she realized he had been speaking to her.

He was silent for a moment as he scanned her face, trying to discern her state of mind. His voice softened. "Don't worry about it. They'll take care of it." His hand rested gently on hers.

The events at the hospital were traumatic. There was a pelvic exam during which Scully almost punched out a physician's assistant. There were rude nurses asking nosy questions that she did not want to answer. And then there was the surgery—she had been injured so badly that she had some internal damage. This is when it occurred to her what a number Donny had done on her.

The first moment she remembered after waking up from the surgery was of Mulder's concerned face looking down at her. She felt his warm hand on hers, and smelled the saltiness of his worried sweat. "Welcome back," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad," she mumbled, still drowsy from the anesthetic. And then she moved slightly. "Oooww…"

"Just lay still and rest. Can I get you anything?"

"An IV drip of morphine would be nice."

"It's actually on the way," he said in his usual dry tone.

There was a pause as consciousness began to return to her brain, and her mind cleared a little more each second. And as it did, the memories of what had occurred that had brought her here returned. Sadness crept back into her psyche, and Mulder must have noticed. "Are you okay Scully? I mean…really okay?"

They both knew he wasn't talking about her physical wounds. "I…yeah, I'll be fine Mulder." But the silence that followed spoke volumes about her real psychological state.

**Part II—Slipping Away**

Mulder spent a lot of time with her those first few days. She needed someone to take care of her, and he was the obvious choice. He even went against his usual protocol and took time off work to be with her at home after she had recovered enough to leave the hospital. They agreed that she would stay at his place until she could get off the pain meds and get around by herself. Then she would stay somewhere else…not at her place—that was a setting that she just wanted to see go up in flames.

She didn't speak much to him about the events of that tragic day. In fact, she didn't speak much at all. What was there to talk about? Her world had been destroyed in one violent act, and there was no way she could see of getting it back. She had no desire to go back to work. As much as she tried to get it out of her mind, all she could think about was that one fateful day. Flashes of scenes from her attack invaded her thoughts, and sometimes it felt as if she was there all over again.

But she did not tell Mulder. She was embarrassed to be seen as that vulnerable. She always wanted to be the strong woman—the female warrior who needed no man to save her. Deep down, of course, she wanted Mulder—needed him—to take the pain away. She wanted the warmth of his cuddling arms, the strength of his shoulders to cry on. And she knew they would be there any time she asked. But she didn't.

Instead she let him wait on her, make her dinner, cover her with his softest blanket. She listened and nodded when he talked about the latest alien abduction he had read about. She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder when they watched a boring movie. But she did not speak of the unspeakable.

Within a week she was able to care for herself again. She could walk without too much pain, and she encouraged Mulder to return to work. "Are you sure, Scully? I can take off as much time as you need…" But she insisted.

When he left that day, the void from his absence felt like the loss of the last pillar holding up a crumbling bridge. The apartment empty now, she sobbed heavily with no vessel to catch her tears. They soaked through her waiting blanket, and she felt ashamed. Why? She did not know.

Maybe it was because it was her own damn fault she let Donny get the best of her. She was an FBI agent, for God's sake—wasn't she trained to deal with such elements? And yet, she had twice let a violent criminal get to her. Not just physically, but also psychically.

She sat obsessing on her pain in empty silence for hours, until Mulder returned. It seemed only minutes before he was leaving for work again, and she felt as if it would be an eternity before he was back again. She did not know how she was going to do this—day in, day out, until she was ready for work again. So she decided she was ready—no, she _had_ to go back.

When Mulder got home, she told him so. "What?" he said incredulously. "Scully, you just got home from the hospital a week ago. You can barely walk! What are you going to do at work?"

"I'll sit at a desk, Mulder. Finish up paperwork that's been piling up. I…I just think it would be better for me than sitting around here doing nothing all day."

Mulder thought about it for a minute. "Well, okay…if that's what you want. I'll talk to Skinner about it tomorrow."

The next day, Scully sat waiting for Mulder to get home. After staring at the walls all day, she was drawn out of her stupor by a sound from the bedroom. She distinctly heard a creeking noise from a floorboard. Her heart racing, she retrieved her gun from her suitcase and crept to the doorway. She pointed the gun into the bedroom, but saw nobody there. Then she heard another noise behind her in the kitchen. The sound of it was amplified, as if she was listening to it over a speaker. Terrified, she darted into Mulder's bedroom and crouched behind his bed.

With trembling hands, she raised her gun in anticipation of the worst. Just when she began to wonder whether it was all just her imagination, she heard the definitive sound of the front door clicking shut. She put her finger on the trigger and prepared to fire. When she heard the sound of footsteps reach the bedroom, she swung her head and arms over the top of the bed and aimed at the head of…Mulder. She stopped her finger just as it was about to squeeze a round into his head.

"Whoa! Whoa…" A startled Mulder assessed the situation. She could almost hear the thoughts turning in his head as he realized what had just happened. His hands went in front of him in a defensive position. "It's okay, Scully…it's me."

She dropped her arms. A gasp escaped her in relief. "Mulder. I'm sorry, Mulder, I thought…I thought I heard something."

His voice softened. "It's okay." He approached her, and removed the gun gently from her hands. "Scully…I'm not so sure you should be back at work yet."

Her head snapped towards his face. Her next words were very deliberate. "I need to be there Mulder."

Mulder shook his head. "Look, even if I agreed with you, Skinner doesn't want you back yet. You know it's Bureau policy to take two weeks off after a traumatic event like this."

Scully felt her cheeks burning. "And yet _you're_ back, Mulder, and you're the one who shot him!"

"I know…I know. But…maybe, just maybe, you're a little too on edge. Don't you think? I mean, you almost shot me just now."

"But I didn't."

"I'm just saying, Scully, why don't you take a little more time, talk to your counselor…it might be good for you."

She stood up and began to walk towards the bedroom door. As was her way, she wanted to escape the confrontation, the pain of not being understood. "Whatever you say, Mulder. I guess I have no input into this decision." With that, she left the room.

She was still angry the next morning, and barely acknowledged him when he left. Afterwards, she felt remorse for being so cold towards the only person in the world she felt comfortable leaning on right now. But it was too late—she was alone now with her thoughts.

She sat on the couch, feeling miserable, until she could bear the silence and the anguish no more. She knew there was no way she would be able to make it through the rest of the day alone with demon memories haunting her.

In a robotic daze, she proceeded to the cabinet where she knew Mulder kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions. She poured herself a shot, finished it, and poured another. From her purse she retrieved the bottle of painkillers she had been prescribed after surgery. She took a handful, and washed it down with another swig of whiskey. She continued on with this routine—swallow, swish…swallow, swish. She lost count at eight. As the room began to spin and the ground collapsed underneath her, she thought, '_I don't really want to die, do I? I just want the pain to end…_'

She felt like she was in a dark tunnel, and he could hear a familiar voice in the distance. "Just get an ambulance here right now!" She felt Mulder frantically shaking her. "Scully…Scully can you hear me? Please, just wake up…"

She opened her eyes and smiled. What had she been upset about before? She couldn't remember. "Hey you," she said groggily.

"Stay with me Scully. How many did you take?"

But before she could say anything, the room went black again, and she was nowhere.

She woke up in a hospital room and panicked for a moment, thinking it was still the night of the assault. But her memories quickly returned as the hospital staff shoved a tube down her throat, gagging her. She was too exhausted to resist. She saw a flash of Mulder's worried face as she passed out again.

This time when she woke up, she stayed awake. And wished she wasn't. Waves of nausea rushed over her time and time again for the next several hours, and for some reason Mulder wasn't there this time to rub her back or hold her hand.

Just as she was beginning to fear that he had abandoned her due to the stupidity of her self-injurious behavior, he came into her room. Sitting on her bed so he could face her, he sat silently, but the look of concern on his face said everything. "Scully…"

She interrupted him with a cracking voice. "Mulder, before you start…I wasn't trying to…"

"I know Scully. But they're still going to put you in the psych ward for a 72-hour hold. I'm sorry. I've been talking to the doctor, trying to talk him out of it, but it's standard procedure."

She sighed and looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry, Mulder. There's just so much to take…I mean, the compulsive thoughts, the flashbacks…"

Mulder put his hand on her shoulder. "Scully, anyone who went through the same thing as you could be having the same reaction. You're a doctor—you know what PTSD can do."

She looked up at him, and she began to cry. Nothing more needed to be said, and she felt a sense of relief as he wrapped his arms around her and absorbed her pain like a sponge.

**Part III—The Return of Evil**

At the psychiatric unit, Scully was not allowed to bring anything in with her. She was given a sterile hospital-issued pajama set. She was not to have visitors more than one hour per day, and she could not make any phone calls. Mulder stayed with her as long as he could, and then she was alone. Alone, that is, except for the other psychiatric patients. She eyed another patient who kept wandering into her space, talking to himself. Then she went to her room and stayed there. Better to be alone than be in harm's way.

A nurse had started her on anti-depressants, and besides upsetting her already-tender belly, they also made her feel strange. There was a buzzing noise and a feeling of compression in her head. At lights out time, she lay in bed listening to the sounds around her. She thought she heard a TV on somewhere, but then realized there were no TV's on this time of night. The noise was coming from her head. It was official—she was hearing voices. '_How appropriate,_' she thought, and closed her eyes.

She heard yet another voice, this one louder than the others. Only this one actually spoke to her. "Girly-girl."

A chill shot up Scully's spine. Her eyes popped open. She sat up and looked around the room, but did not see anything but dark shadows on the walls. The room was baron except for her bed-she was sure she would be able to see if anyone was in here with her. That settled it-she was hearing things because of the medication. It was creepy that it was Donny Pfaster's voice she was hearing, but at least she could be certain that he wasn't really here.

It took over an hour for her to fall asleep, but she did. And then she had to relive the attack in her dreams. She woke up groggy and confused, but relieved that she didn't have to experience the nightmares anymore today.

But as soon as she opened her eyes, she knew the nightmare wasn't over-because standing in the corner was the demonic figure she had come to loathe and fear. Her breath quickened as she wondered how it was possible for a dead man to be standing in her room. She glanced at the door to see if there was anyone nearby to help, and when she looked back at the corner of the room, Donny was gone.

Scully kept the visions to herself, of course. She was sure it was the medication. She went through group therapy, and then saw a therapist for an individual session. She mentioned that she was hearing voices, and the counselor reassured her that the meds were probably causing them, and that the side effects would go away soon.

Scully braved the shower. Ever since the assault, she could not get enough of them, but this was a mental ward, and showering here made her nervous. She closed her eyes and relaxed as she let the warm water wash over her head.

A hand grabbed her mouth from behind, and her eyes shot open in shock. "Is your hair treated?" It was Donny Pfaster's boyish voice. Now she felt his body behind her, and she struggled to get away. The air could not come fast enough into her lungs, and she thought she might just lose consciousness, but she could not let that happen—not while Donny had her.

And then he was gone. She turned around, and there was nobody. But this could not be a hallucination—it was too real. She shook her head and exited the shower.

She dressed with haste and sought out the therapist she had talked to earlier. The counselor listened intently while Scully spoke about the things she had seen and heard since last night. "I have never heard of anti-depressants causing hallucinations this real, Dana. And you have never had any history of mental illness?"

"No, never."

"Hmmm…I'm wondering if it's the PTSD. Maybe your flashbacks are feeling a little too real. I'm not overly concerned about it, but if it continues, let me know, okay?"

"I will." Scully felt that it was more than a flashback, but could she blame the counselor for her opinion? Wouldn't Scully have said the exact same thing under the circumstances?

Mulder came to visit, and she relaxed into his embrace. She did not say anything about the "visions", if that's what they were, but her face must have betrayed her anxiety, because he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…nothing. I'm just tired." She knew he would believe her if she told him the truth, but that was the problem. She was not yet ready to believe she was really seeing Donny, and she did not need Mulder running off with wild ideas in his head while she was trying to sort through the more logical possibilities. She risked his anger if he found out later…after all, she had been in this situation once before-seeing a murder victim after the girl's death and keeping it from Mulder. But she was not ready to confide in him just yet.

That night, she shivered in her bed when the lights went out. It was already cruel to keep a trauma victim locked up by herself in a dark room, let alone one being visited by her dead assailant. But she was a big girl, and she talked herself down from her fear, reminding herself that the dark itself was nothing to be afraid of.

If only the dark was the only thing to fear. Just as she was falling asleep, she opened her eyes, although she could barely tell whether she was still awake or not. Out of the darkness, a ball of light appeared. It turned into a golden color, and floated in front of her like a shiny round doorknob. In the center of the orb was a dark blob, which got larger until it formed the outline of human figure. She could not see the figure's face, but the dark energy emanating from it—from _him_—caused her to freeze in horror. She heard the voice that she had come to dread. "Come here Girlie. There's no escape now."

She closed her eyes again and whispered, '_I'm asleep…I'm asleep…I'm asleep…_" Then she woke up, and realized she _had _drifted off, although the dream did not feel like a dream. It was as if she was in an alternate state of consciousness, observing events that would not have visible to her if she was awake. '_But I _was _asleep,' _she reminded herself, and convinced herself to return to dreamland, even though it did not seem like a very inviting place at the moment.

Fortunately, she did not remember any more of her dreams. But her relief was short-lived, as she began to see Donny much more frequently during her waking hours. While eating breakfast, she saw him standing at the end of the table, but only for a few seconds. In group session, he was sitting in an "empty" chair. During her individual counseling session, as she was describing the visions, she felt a hand single out her index finger, and she recoiled. Even in death, he could not get his mind off her fingernails, apparently. The counselor took note of her "condition", but did not give an opinion at this time.

Mulder came to visit late in the morning. He appeared to have lost some sleep as well. "I'm worried about you, Scully."

She shook her head and looked at the wall. "Don't." She was aware that her tone was one of irritation. "I'm not as depressed as I was."

Now she looked him in the eyes. "I'm getting better, I promise."

He held her hand. The energy she got from that one bit of contact with his skin was revitalizing. "Will you please tell me if something's going on with you, Scully? I don't want anything to happen to you like…like last time."

She fought the urge to tear up. Damn these emotions. Why couldn't they leave her alone for a while?

For a second, she thought of telling him about the ghostly sightings. But she shook her head again, less vigorously this time, and said, "There's nothing. I'm okay, alright?"

She wasn't, of course. Even when she didn't see her nemesis, she imagined flashes of him everywhere, and she jumped at the slightest noise or movement. At one point, she laughed at herself for startling at an obviously disturbed patient who hooted for no apparent reason, only to see Donny standing in the spot where the patient had been just a second ago.

The third night was Hell. The demon who haunted her whispered regularly in her ear—telling her how her hair shimmered in the sliver of light slipping into her dark room, reminding her that she was his favorite, giving her details of all the ways he was going to enjoy using her fingers. '_Surely this isn't my imagination,_' she thought. '_I wouldn't conjure up such gruesome details on my own.' _

The following day was her last at the ward. She was supposed to be released after the counselor evaluated her one last time, but she was in for a rude surprise. When she answered the therapist's questions about the sightings honestly, the counselor's response was, "I'm afraid you're not ready to leave, Hon."

Scully sat silently as she absorbed this information. And then she felt her face turning red as the weight of the counselor's words left her stomach and entered her clenched fists. "'What?"

"I am concerned that you are still having hallucinations. I think it would be dangerous to release you now, and that you might still be a danger to yourself or others." Scully leaned forward in anger, using every ounce of control she had to glue herself to the chair. The counselor shuffled some papers. "You're way too jumpy. I think we need to work on getting you some different meds, maybe some antipsychotics, and keep you in here for observation a little longer."

The sickening sweet tone of the counselor's voice threw Scully over the edge. A battle cry escaped her lips. "Noooo!" Before the shocked therapist could respond, Scully sprang out of her seat and hurled herself over the desk, wrapping her hands around the woman's throat.

An orderly heard the commotion and ran into the room, trying to grab Scully's hands to loosen them, but Scully elbowed him in the face and he dropped to the floor. A male nurse came in next and wrapped his arms around her waist and arms to restrain her, after which she promptly brought her heel down on his toes, just enough to make him loosen his grip on her so that she could escape. She darted out of the room, not sure where to go next.

It was no use, of course. She was easily outnumbered, and they shot her up with a sedative to get her under control. The next thing she knew, she was lying helplessly on her bed, listening to Donny Pfaster come and go, whispering various horrifying scenarios in her ear.

Scully had no idea how much time passed before Mulder was there. When she first opened her eyes and saw him sitting next to her bed, she thought he was a hallucination too. But then she realized it was really him, and she tried to sharpen her attention so that the room would stop spinning and she could have an intelligible conversation with him.

She felt the warmth of his hand on hers, and even now she freaked out at the thought that it might really be Donny's. She guessed that now was a good time to come clean with Mulder. But he beat her to the subject. "What's going on, Scully? They told me you were seeing things."

"It's Pfaster. I've not only been seeing him, I can hear him, feel him touching me…it's so _real_, Mulder."

"And I take it from the bruising on the counselor's throat that you don't agree with her that these are hallucinations?"

She shook her head. "You know, if I was in her position, I would think the same thing. But I just can't believe that hallucinations would feel this tangible, Mulder. I don't know what to do." Now she allowed the tears to come, even at the risk that they could be used as evidence of her unstable psychological condition.

Mulder leaned in close to her, and said in a hushed tone, "I believe you Scully. At least I _want _to believe." He looked around to see if anyone might be standing close enough to overhear their conversation. "The problem is, how do I know for sure that if I help you get out of this…situation, that you won't do anything else to hurt yourself? Can you even be sure of that yourself?"

Scully nodded, wiping the tears from her face. "I won't let you down, Mulder. I don't want to do anything except get rid of these visions…if that's what they are."

"That's good, because…" He looked down. "Because I don't want to lose you Scully."

Her eyes searched his as he returned his gaze to her. "I love you, Scully." He touched her face.

"I love you, too, Mulder," she said through choked-back tears. "I promise I won't disappoint you."

He flashed the hint of a smile at her, and got serious again. "Okay, because here's what I think is going on. I think Donny was connected to you in such an intimate way when he died, that he stayed with you after death. I think he established a link with you that needs to be broken somehow." He looked around again. "And we have to get out of here to do that."

She nodded once again, trying to say as little as possible so that nobody would detect their secret plans to free her from this place.

**Part IV—Scully's Revenge**

As was their way, Mulder and Scully found a way to sneak Scully out of the psych ward. Mulder found some medical scrubs, and retrieved Scully's physician's name badge to pin onto them. They walked right past the guard when the attending nurse was not looking.

Mulder claimed he knew a medium who could bust this ghost. But Scully felt that Pfaster was pure evil, and that only a priest would be able to rid her of him—to perform an exorcism of sorts. She contacted her family's priest, and got the name of someone who would perform such a ritual.

His name was Father Moore, and he insisted that they meet at the site where she had encountered Pfaster this time around—her apartment. He felt that the energy of Pfaster would be the strongest there.

The priest directed Scully to sit in a chair while Mulder stood close by. He was concerned that Scully chose Mulder to be there out of all her loved ones. "If there are any un-pure thoughts from you," he said to Mulder, "it will excite the spirit and make things worse."

Mulder smirked, and Scully was waiting for his comical retort, but there was none. Father Moore got out his tools—a crucifix, holy water, the Holy Writ from which he would recite. He got on his knees and prayed, and then he blessed himself and Scully. She had already been fasting since she spoke with him on the phone earlier, and now she was asked to pray too, and to focus her attention on God and implore Him to assist her. "I will take your confessions now, child."

Scully glanced at Mulder nervously. She crossed herself and said, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It has been…several years since my last confession. I…I have injured myself Father, and committed acts which could have led to my demise. I have hurt the people around me and those closest to me." She did not turn to face Mulder, but she could feel his sympathetic eyes staring at the back of her head.

The priest assigned penance, and directed Mulder and Scully not to speak to Donny directly, nor to respond to him if he should taunt them or joke with them. Frankly, the thought of communicating with him in any sort of way terrified her. But it was better to summon him directly than to wait for him to make contact on his own terms.

"Is this going to be like a regular exorcism?" she asked.

"Although the demon is not within you, we will conduct it in a similar fashion, yes."

"Father…I don't really believe in possession, but can you explain why you believe he has not overtaken me?"

"Child, it is probably because you are strong of heart. Your sins are minimal, so there has been no opportunity for this spirit to invade you."

The priest began his recitation. "I proclaim this exorcism in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every scepter from hell, and all your fallen companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." He crossed himself with those last words.

Scully's heart pounded. She felt as if an evil presence had entered her space, but she could not see or hear anything. Just then, a rattling sound emanated from the coffee table, and they could all see that the Father's rosary beads were being shaken…but by what?

Father Moore did not address the unseen spirit directly, but continued on with his recitation. "Be gone and stay far from this creature of God." He crossed himself. Scully could feel her chair vibrating. Mulder moved in closer to her, but she felt that his protection was useless.

Then Scully felt something stir within her. She felt a rage—a hatred really—that she could not explain. She had thoughts of slashing throats and cutting hair, and she knew they were not her own. She had a sudden obsessive desire to dig into her own wrists with her nails, and she began to act on the compulsion. She watched helplessly as her own nails gouged a red gash into one wrist, and her hand flew up to her neck to continue the mutilation there. "Stop it!" she screamed.

"What's happening to her?" Mulder yelled.

"The spirit has taken over her body." Father Moore sprinkled holy water on her, but it did not seem to have any effect.

Scully closed her eyes involuntarily…and saw all the women that Pfaster had murdered in various poses of death. The priest continued, " For it is He who commands you…"

Scully heard a voice not her own coming from her mouth. "She's mine…"

"Be silent!" spoke the priest.

Mulder was holding her down in the chair, and she became vaguely aware that she was convulsing. Her body was anyway—her mind was far away, sawing away at well-manicured fingers. She watched the scenes in horror, unable to stop them.

She heard Father Moore's voice again, and felt Mulder's hands tighten on her shoulders. "He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell…" But she could no longer feel the chair underneath her, and she realized that, despite Mulder's best efforts, she was floating up out of her chair and into the air. Then she felt her body slam down on the floor, and she gasped as all the air was knocked out of her.

"He's trying to kill her!" shouted Mulder as he kneeled next to her on the floor.

The priest's voice rose. "It is He who commands you, He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm..."

Scully had absolutely no control over her body anymore, and she did the only thing she could do—she surrendered fully to the evil that had overcome her. When she did so, a flash of light filled up her entire field of vision and engulfed her, and she saw a sight that could not be any more welcome at this time—her father standing before her. He looked young and radiant and healthy, and he smiled at her warmly. "Starbuck", he said.

More familiar faces appeared around her—her sister, her grandparents, even Emily. "Looks like you're in a tight spot, Starbuck," said her father. "We can help, but you must turn away from the evil and hatred and embrace all the love around you."

Scully was still deep in the grip of fear, but she focused on the loved ones surrounding her. She began to relax, and when she did, she could feel the love from all those who had passed on enter her. The more she relaxed and let it in and let go of all the pain, the more she began to feel that she was loved unconditionally, that she was perfect just the way she was—and it led to a state of sheer bliss. She laughed.

Then she spotted Donny Pfaster, standing before her. Before the fear could take over again, her loved ones surrounded him and advanced towards him. And now he was the one who looked fearful, as he realized there was no escape. Her guardian spirits closed the circle around him, until they morphed into a flash of brilliant light, and there was nothing and no one in front of her anymore.

She opened her eyes. Mulder was stroking her hair, staring into her face. The priest was still reciting ancient words of divine righteousness, oblivious of the change in her condition. She looked up at Mulder and said, "He's gone."

Mulder helped her sit up, and Father Moore went silent. Scully was sure he would claim credit for ridding her of Pfaster, although she could somehow see from his aura that he did not have the love in his heart needed to properly perform such an act.

Before anyone could say anything, Scully surprised Mulder by wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him so tight that he could not pry her off if he wanted to. But he did not fight it—he embraced her warmly, and she could feel the radiance emanating from him, even if she could not see his smile. She was so happy right now—so joyful and grateful. She did not have words to express what she was feeling, but he could tell. He probably thought it was relief from finally ridding herself of the wicked presence that was Donny Pfaster, but she knew it was more than that. She had descended to Hell, but she had ended up in Heaven, and now she knew that death was nothing to fear. There was pure ecstasy in the world, just as there was pure darkness, and she only hoped that she could bring Mulder there with her sometime.


End file.
